As I walk through the city, I can’t help but think about all the stories these walls could tell. Each one carries a history, a voice, a moment frozen in time. And somewhere out there, scattered across different corners of the world, are my own marks—pieces of me left behind in paint and color. It’s strange to think that there’s a map of it all, like a snapshot of my journey, connecting all the places I’ve been and the walls I’ve touched. Each piece, no matter how small, has its own story, its own reason for being. I wonder if anyone walking past them ever pauses and thinks about the work, the ideas, the energy poured into them. Maybe they see something that sparks a thought, or maybe they just pass by without a second glance. Either way, they’re out there, waiting to be discovered.

Here they are, all of them and many other on Street Art Cities